


Maybe I (just wanna be yours)

by Boudoir_Writer



Series: I Wanna Be Your Dog [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alpha Billy Hargrove, Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Bottom Steve Harrington, Collars, Control, Dom Billy Hargrove, Dubious Consent, Frottage, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Nancy and Jonathan are good friends, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Not the healthiest relationship, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Panic Attacks, Possessive Behavior, Self-Esteem Issues, Steve Harrington Is a Mess, Steve Harrington Needs Love, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Has Issues, Under-negotiated Kink, Verbal Humiliation, not between Billy and Steve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:00:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29020101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boudoir_Writer/pseuds/Boudoir_Writer
Summary: “What’s this?” Billy hisses, teeth flashing. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you go sniffing around for some alpha dick?” Billy stares him down until Steve looks away, huffs.  “You aremine.”And that’s it. Steve laughs, incredulous, meets Billy’s shitty mood head on: he was never one for self-preservation. He wrenches his arm free, steps out of reach. “Yeah,right.”Or: the sequel toSo messed up, I want you hereyou forgot you were waiting for. (Yes, finally!)
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Jonathan Byers/Nancy Wheeler
Series: I Wanna Be Your Dog [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2128944
Comments: 17
Kudos: 144





	Maybe I (just wanna be yours)

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "I wanna be yours" Arctic Monkeys. Because Steve is so whipped.
> 
> Time to deliver all those sequels I promised, so here we go. This has been sitting in my docs for AGES, and I need to accept that it won't get any better than this. Almost a year late, but hey, better late than never.  
> This follows from "So messed up, I want you here"  
> . I recommend you read that first.
> 
> Also, a little note about potential triggers at the bottom. As always mind the tags. If I missed any, let me know! This is unconventional ABO dynamic, so Dub-con is like a given - though Steve knew what he was getting into.
> 
> As always, unbetaed, though if you spot anything let me know.

Thing is, Steve knows he’s dumb. He doesn’t need Miss Click to give him those despairing looks when he asks a question. He doesn’t need his dad’s wry smile when he jokes with his pals at the country club that  _ at least the boy got the wife’s good looks _ . And he definitely doesn’t need Nance to corner him on his way to Remedial Math, eyes wide and disbelieving, notes clutched to her chest as a shield against his idiocy.

“Hargrove? Steve, what the hell?” she scoffs.

Steve would like nothing more than being able to say  _ no, of course not, I’m not that dumb _ . Only he  _ is _ . 

He rubs at the heat climbing up his neck, plasters on a sheepish grin. “Yeah, well. You know me.” But the thing is she doesn’t. Not really, not ever.

He watches her eyes go soft, worried, and her hand finds his arm. The touch gives him goosebumps, makes him want to press back into it, pretend this could have been it, just for a while.

She asks “Are you all right?” And what is he supposed to say to  _ that _ ? He got himself turned bitch - by Billy fucking Hargrove of all people. That should be a pretty good indicator of his being all right.

He shakes his arm free, runs a hand through his hair. He smiles, lies. It’s his one super power. If only he could lie to himself.

“I’m fine Nance. Really.”

“But - I mean,  _ why _ ?”

And that, that is what Steve can’t explain, to her or to Billy, who has been watching him when he thinks Steve is not looking, has been asking questions when he thinks Steve is crazed enough with lust, with need, that he might slip up, spill his secrets or, god knows, reveal the ace up his sleeve.

They should know better. Steve’s got no secrets, no aces, Steve’s got nothing beside a pretty enough face and tight, willing ass. And, of course, the burning, gaping urge to feel like, for once, he’s  _ wanted _ .

-

“Bitch,” Billy says in that way that makes Steve’s face go hot, makes his dick twitch. He’s never sure if Billy means it like Tommy does -  _ always knew you were a bitch, Harrington!  _ \- or if he means something else entirely. Not that it would make any difference. He can call Steve whatever he likes, Steve would still be on his knees, sucking his dick.

He’s so hard it hurts. The taste of Billy searing his tongue and he can’t think anymore, he just wants, wants,  _ wants _ .

Steve tells himself it’s biology, but deep down he knows it’s him. Tommy is right, he was always a bitch.

A chuckle, a tug at his hair, and Steve is left to whine, open mouthed, panting, when Billy pulls out.

“Look who’s hungry for it,” Billy smirks.

Please.  _ Please _ . It’s on the tip of his treacherous tongue. He bites it down, hard. Tastes blood and shame. God, he’s such a slut. “Shut up,” he blurts, hoarse, at Billy or the voice in his head. He doesn’t know anymore.

Billy laughs and more heat washes over Steve’s cheeks. Thumb rubbing at his bottom lip, rough and heavy, smearing spit and precome and Billy’s taste, sun kissed skin and nicotine. Steve can’t help himself, his tongue flicks out, laps at the calloused tip. It gets him a knowing look, it gets Billy's thumb into his mouth, pressing down on his tongue, forcing Steve to open wide, jaw slack, spit spilling down his chin.

Billy moves his leg just so and his shin comes to rest against Steve’s erection, an invitation, a test. Steve gasps at the jolt of pleasure. He can’t help himself. Before he knows it he is rocking his hips, chasing the pressure, the friction. He ruts against Billy’s leg, drooling around his finger - just like a dog.

Billy is watching him, that smirk on his mouth, and Steve, he closes his eyes, hot and stinging, pinpricks all along his lashes. His stomach feels bloated with shame and lust, seems to press against his diaphragm to steal his breath and make him pant.

Then Billy’s thumb leaves his mouth and once more he’s left empty, hungry, useless. It hurts, the core of him groaning under the weight of disappointment.

He closes his mouth, swallows, the taste of Billy already fading. He swallows again, salt and iron at the back of his throat.

“Want my cock, Princess?” Billy says. It’s teasing but not unkind, makes Steve shudder, tear-wet eyes squeezed shut.

Billy hums but doesn’t relent, waits, and Steve slumps forward, rests his fevered brow against Billy’s thigh, sucking oxygen through his open mouth. Fingers in his hair, gentle then not. He’s pulled up and away, and he mourns the loss of solidity and warmth against his cheek.

“Look at me,” he’s told and when he does he finds Billy staring at him, eyes all solid blue, unreadable. Steve holds his breath, his hopes. His hands twitch, useless at his sides, like he forgot he has them. His knees hurt but he can’t find in himself the will to move. What was the question again?

“Of course you do,” Billy says, pushes two fingers back into Steve’s mouth. Steve sucks, and moans and when they push deep enough he gags and chokes and hopes for more. “So what do you say?”

Steve’s tongue chases Billy’s fingers when they retreat, licks their touch off his lips. His voice comes from some place else, some place deep and dark, now cracked open. “Don’t you get tired of hearing me beg?” It’s a honest to god question, even if he delivers it with a huff and a roll of his stinging eyes.

Billy sighs, rubs his scalp, scratches behind an ear, soothing. Steve leans into the touch. “What do you think?”

Steve bites his lips, hesitates, finally meets Billy’s eyes, watches him hold his breath and wait, as if all this time he’s been going just that, waiting for Steve.

“ _ Please _ .”

It’s all it takes. Billy’s cock is back in his mouth, knocking at his throat. His fingers fist Steve’s hair, setting the pace, the depth, the chances Steve gets to breathe _. _

Steve lets his jaw go slack, spit dripping down his chin, his neck. It’s a mess, he’s a mess. Mouth scraped, seared, fucked, used. Tears escape the corner of his eyes, air his heaving chest - when Billy allows.  _ If. _

There’s something knocking inside his head, maybe his heart, maybe Billy’s name. Or maybe just his blood, spiked with the lack of air, of control, of relief.

“Just like that. So good for me.”

Steve burns under the praise, sinks deeper under the tide. He can’t breathe, can’t think, he’s not sure he even knows how to anymore.

Then Billy rams in, one last glorious time, floods his mouth, thick and salty. Steve gasps, and groans and gurgles, loud and obscene. “Come here,” Billy is saying and pulls him up to straddle his thigh, the thick muscle hot and firm against Steve’s dick. Billy’s tongue is chasing his taste into Steve’s mouth and Steve is shaking apart around it.

“Billy,” he whines when Billy retreats to lick at his heated cheek.

“Come on then,” he shifts his leg, the jostle of hard flesh against Steve’s erection ripping a moan out of him. “Are you going to cream your pants for me, uh?”

Billy hands grab at his ass, leaving little room to move, just barely enough to rut against Billy’s thigh like a bitch, in tiny, desperate rolls of his hips, the friction taking him close, closer but not quite there.

Any attempt to change the pace, position, is useless, Billy allowing him just enough movement to drive himself crazy with desperation. Billy’s mouth descends to kiss him, or maybe drink in his gasps and whimpers. Hard to tell.

“I can’t,” Steve blurts, shaking his head, panic mounting. His dick hurts, the friction well past chafing. He’s close but not close enough. “I  _ can’t _ .”

“Of course you can,” Billy soothes, slips a hand down his pants, fingers reaching for Steve’s furled hole, promising, then further down, pressing hard right beneath Steve’s tense balls. And just like that Steve stops breathing, vision sparking white at the edges, cock erupting in his pants.

He groans and ruts into his own mess, mindless, until Billy hauls him closer and bites his lips, steals precious puffs of breath chasing the aftertaste of his release on Steve’s tongue.

Steve is shaky and boneless and can’t even keep his eyes open. He can only shiver as Billy’s kisses turn lazy and slow.

“Still with me, Princess?”

And the thing is, Steve is, he  _ is _ , and Billy knows.

“Told you you could,” he adds, smug.

“You're such a dick,” Steve mumbles in the crook of his neck, because he can’t help himself.

“You love it,” Billy chuckles, pats the small of his back, where the shivers haven’t quite subsided yet.

_ Me _ , Steve hears and maybe he does. God help him, maybe he does.

-

Hands on his hips, pulling him against a warm, solid body. Steve holds his breath. He doesn’t remember dozing off. Billy’s erection presses against the small of his back, rubs there, moves lower, intent clear and Steve fails to repress a pained gasp as the hot length drags over his still tender hole. It’s just a puff of breath, but Billy goes still, and Steve could swear his own heart does too.

Then Billy says “Go back to sleep,” and rolls off him, the bed.

Steve attempts to sit up, to protest that it’s fine, he’s fine, he can take it, he can take anything, but his body won’t cooperate, his lips won’t form the words.

“Hey,” Billy warns, hand in his hair pressing him down on the creased pillow. “I said go back to sleep.”

And he’s gone. He’s gone and Steve is left with a side of the bed going cold and a familiar ache in his chest.

-

Billy doesn’t come back that weekend and on Monday he’s not in class. Steve can count on one hand the days he has spent away from Billy since he got turned and by Friday he’s shaking out of his skin. Nancy takes a look at his face and drags him to the canteen.

“So,” she starts, while Steve pushes his tuna casserole around his plate. “Any news on your applications?”

It’s an attempt to take his mind off Billy’s absence, he knows. But he hasn’t got into any of the colleges he applied to. He’s not going anywhere, he’s too dumb for that. Not too dumb not to know that Billy is going places, though. Places without Steve.

And maybe that’s it. That’s why Billy is putting some distance between them.

It was always a matter of time after all. Three months since he turned him and he hasn’t claimed Steve yet. Graduation is two months away and Steve should know better than to hope.

Steve shrugs. “I’ll figure something out.”

“What about Hargrove?”

He sees the alarmed look on Nancy’s face at Jonathan’s blunt question. He knows what’s coming next. He pushes his plate away, folds his arms above his treacherous heart.

“What about him.”

Nancy licks her lips, puts a hand on Jonathan’s arm.

Jonathan frowns, sets his jaw. “Steve should know,” he says. “Wouldn’t you want to know?”

“He - he got an offer from UCLA,” Nancy blurts after a beat, not meeting his eyes. “I heard Mrs Johnson congratulate him after Advanced English.”

And yeah, Steve was bracing for this. Still, it hurts. It fucking hurts to be reminded how stupid he is.

“Right,” he says. He gets up, chair scraping on the faded linoleum. The canteen suddenly seems very quiet. Or maybe there’s something wrong with his ears.

“Steve.”

She means well, but he can’t face her pitying look. So he turns around and walks away with the little dignity he has left.

It’s Jonathan who finds him an hour later, under the bleachers, pale and red rimmed.

He offers a cigarette and Steve takes it without a word, without really looking at him. Exhales a cloud of smoke, but can’t dislodge from his throat whatever is threatening to choke him.

“Tell him,” Jonathan says.

Steve gives him a look.

“That you love him.” Jonathan elaborates.

“I don’t.” He flicks the ashes, takes another drag, watches from the corner of his eye as Jonathan's face goes pensive.

There’s a small, tired sigh, then Jonathan’s hand fists at the front of his polo and pulls, hard. Steve drops his cigarette in surprise, and Jonathan -  _ Jonathan _ is kissing him, kissing him like Billy would, teeth and tongue and no room for compromise, like an alpha - but he’s not Billy,  _ he’s not Billy _ .

Steve plants both hands on Jonathan’s chest and shoves him away.

“What the fuck?” He rubs at his mouth as he stumbles back, unbalanced, legs twitching with the urge to run.

Jonathan raises his hands, placating, apologetic, and ducks his head, a faint blush on his pale cheeks. “Didn’t feel like Hargrove, did it?”

Steve stares, speechless, because Billy had said  _ Any alpha will do, _ and Steve - like the fucking idiot that he is -  _ believed him _ .

-

He finds Billy in the parking lot, the Camaro blocking the Beemer.

“You’re late,” Billy starts without even looking at him and Steve tightens his grip on the strap of his bag, tightens the grip on himself.

“And hello to you too,” he bites back, because running his mouth is how he copes with defeat.

A hand clamps on Steve’s arm, and Billy leans in, nostrils flaring. There is a nasty bruise under his left eye, starting to turn yellow, and Steve should ask, but he can only focus on the mean curl of Billy’s mouth.

“What’s this?” Billy hisses, teeth flashing. “I leave you alone for five minutes and you go sniffing around for some alpha dick?” Billy stares him down until Steve looks away, huffs. “You are  _ mine _ .”

And that’s it. Steve laughs, incredulous, meets Billy’s shitty mood head on: he was never one for self-preservation. He wrenches his arm free, steps out of reach. “Yeah,  _ right _ .”

“The fuck you said?” Billy’s voice turns sharper, dangerous. Steve crosses his arm over his chest and dares him. Billy shakes his head, gives a chuckle that is not amused, rubs at his mouth. “All right, all right, all  _ right _ ,” he singsong, pulling the collar out from the breast pocket of his jacket. Dangles it in Steve’s face, like a dog treat, like he doesn’t know how bad Steve wants it, wants to belong to  _ Billy _ , and Billy, fuck him, just fuck  _ him _ and his games, and his lies. 

“Go on, then. Put it on,” Billy is saying, sweet as can be, but his eyes are hard and unblinking, like that night at Jonathan’s.

Like that night, Steve knows he doesn’t stand a chance against Billy, he never did. Like that night, he doesn’t  _ care. _

“Fuck you.” He plants a hand on Billy’s chest and shoves, hard, vicious. Billy stumbles back with the surprise of it, drops the collar to the ground. Steve presses on, shoves again, harder. “You don’t get to do this,” he growls. “You  _ don’t _ .”

Before he can shove him a third time Billy tackles him. One moment he’s standing, the next he’s pressed against the side of the Camaro, Billy pressed against the length of him, solid and immovable and inevitable. Still Steve bucks, and curses and shouts. Or maybe not, maybe he just thinks he does because Billy is calling his name and Steve can count on one hand the times Billy has used his name. “Steve,” he’s saying. “Steve, listen to me. You need to breathe.”

And he’s right, Steve needs to breathe, how could he forget, but he can’t, heart beating out of his chest, vision going dark around the edges.

“Come on, princess. Breathe. Like this.” Urgent now, in Steve’s ear, piercing through the fog of his panicked, oxygen deprived brain.

Steve manages a choked gasp. Another. It hurts. Everything hurts. But Billy is holding him up, hand against Steve’s heart and  _ telling him to breathe. _

Steve breathes.

-

He is in the passenger seat of the Camaro and he doesn’t remember getting there. His face feels swollen, his mouth raw. The sun is setting above the quarry, rays of molten gold kissing Billy’s curls, his eyelashes.

He’s staring at the sky, eyes just like it, blue and boundless. His lips, chewed cherry red, part, but for a long moment nothing comes out. Steve frowns: for someone that can never shut up, Billy is strangely quiet.

“I scared you,” he says. It sounds an awful lot like  _ sorry _ .

Steve blinks. “What?” He scoffs, shakes his head with a grimace. Groans at the headache he hadn’t realised he had. “No. That’s not -” He forces himself to breathe slowly through his nose, rubbing at his tender brow. Can’t even do something as stupid as breathing, he snorts. Go figure. “You said any alpha would do,” he settles for. Steve thinks about Jonathan - caring, sweet, Jonathan - can’t repress a shudder.

Billy lets out a sound like a hiss, a puncture in a tyre - or maybe in his chest. “You said you didn’t want  _ me _ .”

Steve frowns, looks up at Billy, who is watching him, jaw clenched, knuckles white around the wheel.

“Is that why you are leaving?” The words tumble out of his mouth before he can stop them. He looks away, he too stares at the cloudless sky until he’s dizzy with the expanse of it, because he can’t bear to see the pity on Billy’s face. He forces out what’s meant to be a laugh, an attempt to shatter the quiet, sweep away the awkward. It doesn’t come out quite right, like anything that Steve does.

“I mean -” He doesn’t know what he means, he grits his teeth, rubs at his brow, at his smarting eyes - wishes himself to be anything but this frustrating, hopeless  _ mess _ . What’s the point in pretending though? Billy knows he’s nothing but a dumb bitch.

“Princess, look at me.”

At times like this, Steve wishes he was a coward, wishes he had some sense of self-preservation, some fucking  _ dignity _ . But Billy told him to look so he looks, even if it’s to greet the familiar sight of disappointment on Billy’s face, too.

“I’m not going anywhere, you hear me?” he’s saying. “Not without you.”

The words don’t register for a minute.

But then there’s only Billy’s fingers in his hair, rubbing, tugging, and Billy’s mouth on his cheek, lips fever hot, Steve could swear he’ll find a mark there. He wouldn’t mind.

Steve’s hand reaches into Billy’s breast pocket. The collar is there, warm like Billy’s skin.

Steve runs a thumb over the buckle, closes his eyes for a moment, just tracing the grooves in the leather. Billy grabs his wrist. Steve searches his gaze, finds needs and hopes to match his own. How could he have missed them?

“Please,” Billy says.

Steve nods, once, offers the collar, his throat, himself.

Billy kisses his fingers, takes the collar, takes him - takes all and doesn't let go.

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning  
> Jonathan kisses Steve without consent to prove a point.  
> Steve has a panic attack.  
> Alpha Billy being Alpha Billy  
> 
> 
> And they lived happy ever after! I might come back to add some more filth - but that's all for now folks.
> 
> I had a hard time getting this to a point I was mildly happy with... so please let me know what you think. Thank you for reading!


End file.
